


Hallucination

by magicconchshel



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, and hes struggling to cope, jazz is in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:14:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24384871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicconchshel/pseuds/magicconchshel
Summary: Jazz is hopelessly in love with the Autobots Second in Command and he doesn't know how to deal with it.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 2
Kudos: 79





	Hallucination

**Author's Note:**

> A special thanks to TwinDragons0268 for reading over this.

Jazz’s servos were wound tightly against the metal bars of his berthframe as his vents heaved to cool him down. His breaths were short and ragged, his mouth hanging open and his optics dim. His visor was on the ground, long forgotten. 

Prowl’s ghostly hands took the back of Jazz’s thighs and placed his knees on his shoulders. He then lowered his frame down so he was pushed against Jazz’s array. His hands were planted on either side of Jazz’s helm against the flat of the berth. Jazz wanted to grab at Prowl, his wrists or his shoulders or his waist. Anything really. But he feared that if he did so, Prowl would disappear. 

So he settled for the metal frame behind him. It rattled with each thrust. The entire berth seemed to move with them. It rocked with every pant and arch. The noises and movements got more urgent when Jazz muttered, “Faster.” 

Jazz’s moans got louder and he opened his mouth wide, looking like an exaggerated gasp. Towards the back, two fangs were exposed. 

His back curved divinely and his optics flickered for a few seconds. He cried out and dug his heels into the padding. There was no way he could have held the pose Prowl had set him in. Jazz was glad he’d done this in the middle of the day when most were on shift, he didn’t want there to be any witnesses to hear him cry out Prowl’s name. 

By the end of the overload, he was lying flat on his back with no pillows beneath him and no Prowl above him. When he finally did online his optics, he was alone except for the box mounted on the wall across the room. The light was red instead of green now. 

Jazz pulled himself upright. While he would have liked to have rolled over and recharged for a few joors, his shift started soon and he had some clean up to do. 

There was an emptiness and it wasn’t just in his valve. The gentle touch of his servos and the weight of his frame was gone and it left him cold. 

He’d done this before and every time Jazz wondered if he should ever do it again. It wasn’t Prowl and it never would be Prowl. That little box Jazz had installed on the wall provided him with more than he could have ever asked for, but as time went on Jazz found himself to be more and more obsessed with it. 

These projectors had been invented for training purposes. They produced figures that could touch and be touched. They were primarily used to simulate battles for newbies to practice in. The projector in Iacon’s training room, where Jazz was stationed, had quickly become a crucial part of every recruit’s training. The first models provided faceless frames with generic battle tactics, but once independent inventors got their servos on them, the possibilities blossomed. 

But once these projectors were mass-produced, bots who knew how to code started altering them. Jazz had been wandering Iacon’s market with a few friends when he’d seen this one. The mech was offering them for a hefty price, but he promised that it was worth every credit. He said the machine would let someone live out their fantasies. They could be with anyone they desire and act out anything they pleased. 

Jazz had pretended to be uninterested, but later in the evening, he returned to the mech’s stall and questioned him further. Jazz was skeptical, but once he saw how he could make the figure look like whoever he wanted, he was hooked. He paid the mech the fee and was on his way. 

While he would never admit it, it was Prowl who was on his mind as he bought the projector. That mech had been making Jazz’s systems run wild for far too long. Jazz knew he’d never be able to experience the real him, but this would hold him over for now. 

Jazz had scoured the database for every known photo of Prowl. There were quite a few since he was SIC. Most of which were from various political gatherings. Once he had a suitable shot of Prowl from every angle, he plugged it into the machine and let it generate its version of Prowl. 

He’d been sitting on his berth the first time he saw the projection. The projector made him a bit taller than he was and altered his body language, but Jazz couldn’t bring himself to care. This hallucination walked with more pride and held his helm higher than Prowl did. The projection did not speak when Jazz spoke to him. 

Jazz had taken the servo of the mech in front of him. He held it and asked, “You wanna spend the night with me?”

Prowl did not respond. He climbed on top of Jazz and bit his neck. Jazz moaned terribly until he overloaded. Prowl did not overload. He never did. This projection was made for pornographic purposes only. There was never any conversation, no cuddling, and no optic contact from his partner. 

He liked to pretend that Prowl was responding to him. He wanted to believe that Prowl was moaning just as loud as he was. And for a a while he could believe it, but his daydream was always broken as soon as he came down from his overload. 

Jazz stood up from the berth and climbed on top of a stool to dismount the projector. He didn’t want any surprise visitors to see it and question what it was. The hooks were still in the wall, but he could say it was for hanging a speaker. 

The projector was turned off and tucked under his berth. He had to keep it out of sight otherwise he’d be tempted to use it again. Jazz had to limit himself with this. When he’d first gotten it, he’d used it for three joors that night. It had been a dream come true. 

As he was wiping up his mess, his comm. link clicked on and a deep voice filled his helm. 

“Are you on your way, Jazz?” Prowl asked. 

His voice was so unique. Jazz often thought he had an accent exclusive to him.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute,” he replied. 

“I’ll be waiting.”

He had a meeting scheduled with Prowl and although they were discussing work related topics, Jazz couldn’t wait to see him, the real him.

**Author's Note:**

> lemme know any one-shot ideas y'all have. I love to write but I don't always have ideas.


End file.
